


To Say That

by TwistedArrow (McDanno50)



Series: Often [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU, Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types, Man of Steel (2013), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Post-Canon, Reunion Sex, SuperBat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8578369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McDanno50/pseuds/TwistedArrow
Summary: "To say that we're in love is dangerous." -The Weeknd, "Acquainted"Clark is back. Bruce is pleased.    Bruce wanted to bite that chiseled jaw before running his weathered fingers across those sharply defined cheekbones until he cut himself. There was nothing more he’d like to do than tackle Mr. Steel onto the ballroom floor and truly give these well-to-do ladies a show to be remembered.





	1. They Warned Me

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own 'Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice', the characters and general plot of the movie/comics all belong to their respectful owners. It was not my intention to offend anyone by the writing of this story. This story is Unbeta'd so please forgive any mistakes you may read.
> 
> Hey Everyone! I'm back with the requested sequel to 'When You Leave'. You don't necessarily have to read that story to understand this one, but I recommend it. I also recommend listening to Acquainted by The Weeknd while reading.

Anger was a funny thing. Not something to be laughed at, but amazed of the many forms the emotion could take. Bruce Wayne grew to learn quite a bit about anger over the years. There were four particular instances that rose to the forefront of his mind. One, when his parents were gunned down for pocket change outside of a dingy theater. Two, when a psychopathic maniac decided to murder his son for fun. Three, when an alien had brought more aliens to earth only to destroy the building that housed what remained of his family. Finally, when Superman was killed by Doomsday before Bruce had a chance to apologize.

            Those memories had stuck with him for years and would continue to do so until the Batman was finally laid to rest. The thought didn’t bother Bruce too much anymore. On the contrary, it was anger that drove him forward in his mission to cleanse Gotham of its filth.

            It was only when he met Clark Kent, the real Clark, did he finally begin to let go of his anger. Too bad the man had up and left several months ago, lost in space searching for any remains of a long dead planet. Bruce wasn’t angry though. After all, Clark had promised to come back. He just had to believe in that, in _him_.

____*____

            Bruce Wayne had been invited to a charity function in Metropolis. The soiree was to take place in the ballroom of the prestigious Grand Metro Hotel. Until he bought the penthouse, this hotel was his home away from Gotham. The building itself was lovely, not as gothic or innately beautiful like Gotham, but it had its charm. It was more Parisian than Metropolis and if only Clark could see him dressed like this.

            He grimaced at the thought.  There was no one to see him anyway, not really. The tipsy socialites were more than occupied with dancing and casting vulgar looks at him through their masks. Why did it have to be a masquerade party? Bruce thought sourly. Through the day and all through the night he wore one mask or another.

            He chatted with the lords and ladies of Gotham and Metropolis alike, all the while keeping an eye on the golden clock above the mantelpiece. Once he has spent enough time amongst drunken idiots, albeit wealthy idiots, he would slip out the servants’ entrance. It would be as if Bruce Wayne had never attended with the exception of a handsome donation made by Wayne Industries. Donating to a good cause was all that mattered, even if he was supremely uncomfortable dressed in the matte black suit with a charcoal bow tie and mask to match. To be fair to Alfred’s style of choice, the masquerade mask didn’t cover nearly as much of his face as did the Bat’s.

            To his left, the decadently dressed Vicki Vale abruptly stopped speaking about shareholder wealth. It was so abrupt that even Bruce turned to follow her eye across the polished floor. A man standing in the ballroom doorway had quite obviously caught her attention. A quick glance around the room revealed that nearly everyone was gawking at the gentleman; the ladies were smitten while the men were either seething or envious.

            It was easy to see why. The man was tall, nearly as tall as Bruce himself, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He was dressed per custom of these sorts of events: black suit, white dress shirt, but instead of the black bow tie to match, he chose crimson. The bloody hue complemented the similarly colored mask that shrouded his eyes and subsequently his identity. His lips a devilish pink, they turned up in a tiny smirk. Perhaps it was his confidence that struck Bruce the most. The man’s stance spoke of the utmost assurance, his hands casually tucked away in his suit pockets as his eyes scanned the crowd for something, or rather someone.

            Their mysterious guest began walking in Bruce’s direction. It amused him to no end that the tipsy socialites of moments ago cleared a wide berth for the handsome stranger so soberly. He passed through the sea of fashionably dressed affluent men and women, but he saw none of them. It would seem the man only had eyes for Bruce, big, impossibly blue eyes with a speckle of brown in the left iris.

            Up close, the gentleman bowed with just a tad of sarcasm. “Mr. Wayne,” he turned to Bruce’s lady companion and kissed her proffered hand perfunctorily. “Ms. Vale, you look lovely.”

            Such a warm, familiar voice soothed his nerves. Bruce didn’t know if he should punch him or kiss him on the mouth. Neither option appealed in front of all these people; the glorious feeling sang through his veins as the rich snobs looked on in confusion and anticipation. Naturally, the Prince of Gotham had a cover to maintain. It was him, really _him_ , after all this time.

            Even so, he didn’t want to end the game just yet. So Bruce ran with it; his having fun was such a rare occurrence after all. “Good evening, Mister…?”

            The man smiled a shy grin. “Joseph Steel.”

            Bruce barked out an amused laugh before he could stop it. “Steel,” he mused aloud. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

            He held out a hand, none too surprised at the strength in the returning grip; the warm, soft feel of his hands were just as Bruce remembered. He spared a quick thought for Vicki Vale; the woman had stuck to his side like gum to a shoe the moment he walked into the ballroom. Long ago, he would not have minded the attention as Vicki was truly great in bed, not to mention a decent conversationalist when she wasn’t looking for a scoop.  Could this Joseph Steel really be jealous? How could he? The man’s been gone for months, leaving Bruce without a care in the world. Still, Bruce said he’d wait and he meant it. If only he could say that, say something to clear the charged air surrounding them.

            “Likewise,” Joseph Steel nodded his head. The dimple in his chin endlessly distracted him. Bruce wanted to bite that chiseled jaw before running his weathered fingers across those sharply defined cheekbones until he cut himself. There was nothing more he’d like to do than tackle Mr. Steel onto the ballroom floor and truly give these well-to-do ladies a show to be remembered. The sick part of it was they’d all enjoy it a little too much, particularly the men.

            “Vicki,” Bruce announced to the Gotham City reporter he had nearly forgotten in his sexual musing. “We’ll have that dinner next week, yes?”

            The reporter visibly startled. Too busy drooling over Mr. Steel apparently to respond promptly. She recognized a dismissal when she heard one though. “Yes of course Bruce.”

            And with a lasting kiss to his cheek, she melted into the crowd.

            Joseph watched the woman go with a raised brow; had this woman no shame? The rest of the party once surrounding Bruce dispersed quite unobtrusively soon after his arrival. It seemed as if all eyes stared in their direction but nobody seemed stupid enough to intrude on their conversation. A dark part of him gladdened. After all, it had been months since he last saw Bruce; he selfishly wanted to keep the billionaire all to himself. He stared at Bruce for as long as he could without speaking. There wasn’t much to talk about surrounded by so many strangers. All eyes and ears were focused on their intense interaction, so Joseph kept it short and simple. There was no use in being cannon fodder for their gossip sure to be had at tea time tomorrow.

            “I would stay and chat but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.” He stepped around Bruce after a polite nod of his head. No one saw as their fingers came into contact once more. Joseph indulgently stroked Bruce’s right hand before leaving the ballroom with as much fanfare as he had entered.

            Bruce smirked, whispering a soft, sincere promise audible only to Mr. Steel and those inhuman ears. “Presidential suite. Five minutes.”

            Gotham’s favorite son smiled back at those who were brave enough to be staring in his direction. Thoughts preoccupied, he approached the nearest socialite to converse with as much attention as he could spare. His earlier escape plan had been compromised with the appearance of the mysterious Joseph Steel. Now he had less than five minutes to formulate another plan to flee the adoring masses.


	2. You're No Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside the presidential suite, Bruce and Clark are reunited properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I actually had most of it written when I posted the first chapter, but then I had to go home for the holidays. Do you know how difficult it is to write SuperBat porn surrounded by family? Talk about awkward. Then I get back and its frickin' finals time already. Don't even get me started about those nasty group projects *gags*. Anyways...I hope you all enjoy!

When he reached the presidential suite he had approximately 1 minute and 27 seconds to spare. The swipe of his key card and the resulting squeak of the opening door sent a shiver down his spine. Anticipation would probably kill him before Clark even arrived; it was an embarrassing thought.

            He made it to the ridiculously large bed before untying the equally ridiculous mask, peeling it from his face in disgust. The obnoxious façade of billionaire Bruce Wayne dropped to the floor with his jacket and vest in a whisper of fallen fabric. He removed his platinum engraved cufflinks delicately- they were his father’s- and placed them on the bedside table. The resulting ‘clink’ sound seemed to echo in the empty room. Surely it’s been five minutes? Where was Clark?  

            A soft tap on glass startled him out of his worrying. Bruce looked to his right, out to the balcony, and there he was. Superman, dressed in full hero apparel, stood outside wearing a sheepish grin. He was rubbing the back of his neck nervously; alas, the devilish man Bruce had met downstairs was gone. He wouldn’t deny the brief feeling of disappointment as he had wanted to be the one to peel Clark out of his fetching attire.

            “What are you doing out here?” Bruce asked the moment he slid open the large glass door. He didn’t want to pester, didn’t want to be the annoying, clingy one who says _you’re late_.

            Superman smirked, an unusual look for the wholesome hero. “Do you really want to be in the tabloids tomorrow for having a late night rendezvous in your hotel room?”

            As if he hadn’t been accused of much worse in the past, he thought with a roll of his eyes. He said as much to Clark before dragging him by the hand into the dark hotel room. The moon cast its shine through the glass, casting a beautiful shadow to everything in the room, including Superman. Odd, Bruce thought, that a man who gains his power from the sun would look so striking in the moonlit night.

            Bruce had so many questions; some were relevant while the others were completely idiotic. Where had he been? What had he seen? What was deep space like? Did he encounter any other beings out there? Is the moon really made out of cheese?

            These feelings of longing and helplessness were irrelevant now that Superman had returned, but he wanted to know everything. To be away from Clark for so long had been unsettling to say the least and he wanted everything put back into their properly labeled boxes. Only then would Bruce be able to breathe easy again.

            “Bruce?” Clark asked quietly. His smirk was gone, replaced with a look of unease. “Is this okay?”

            “When did you get back?” He asked instead. The question stuck with him ever since Clark had left the ballroom. But now that he’d asked it, he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. Had he returned to Bruce as an afterthought? Was he here out of some misplaced sense of duty? Why hadn’t he called once he landed on Earth?

            Naturally, Clark didn’t disappoint. The man could be as logical as the Batman if he put his mind to it. “Last night. It made more sense for Superman to land in a cornfield in Kansas than the middle of Gotham. I called Alfred this morning and he said you were busy until the gala this evening.”

            Bruce opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

            “Bruce?” It was Vicki Vale and she sounded a tad drunk. “Are you in there?”

            With a burst of super speed, Clark stood in front of him looking as furious as Bruce had ever seen him; the notion was intriguing considering they had once been mortal enemies. Bruce turned his head to the door as if he could will her away with his stare just as Clark’s palms smacked the wall on either side of his head. Startled, Bruce looked to Clark and their eyes locked. His brows furrowed in reproach while Bruce’s rose with amusement. Ah, so that was it; apparently Kryptonians were not incapable of jealousy. Evidently, it was also impossible to look away when Superman commanded attention so fiercely.

            A muffled thump then Vicki’s disappointed sigh sounded through the closed door. “Come on Bruce; I know you’re in there.”

            Refusing to break their gaze, Bruce opened his mouth to reply but the words didn’t make it past his lips. He was kissed within an inch of his life, as if the months apart really had been as painful for Clark as they had been for him. There was tongue, saliva, and hot breath; teeth clacked occasionally and noses bumped once or twice. It was rough, intense, and everything Bruce needed.

            His lungs screamed at him to breathe. As he stopped to pant heavily into the dark of the room, a thin line of saliva connecting them both finally severed. Clark’s gaze fell to the glisten on Bruce’s chin before his tongue followed. He licked a wet stripe up Bruce’s neck, across his chin, and back into his mouth. They shared the taste of human sweat and desperation before Bruce let out a moan that Vicki heard loud and clear.

            “Oh,” she sounded embarrassed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know you already had company for the evening.”

            Bruce knew better. Vicki wasn’t sorry but jealous that she hadn’t been invited to the private after party. He wanted to reply with something sharp like _go away_ , but Clark wouldn’t let him. The fire in his eyes and the burn of his mouth on Bruce’s was a clear indication of how the Kryptonian felt about the Gotham City reporter.  

            “Do you want her to join us?” Clark then whispered into his ear.

            Bruce didn’t dignify the question with a verbal response, allowing his body to answer instead. Gripping Clark’s hair with one hand, he used the other to glide down Superman’s costume, feeling the bumps and ridges of hard muscle. His right leg lifted on its own accord to wrap around Clark’s trim waist. The involuntary grind of his hips met an answering hardness, eliciting a violent shiver out of them both.

            The sound of unsteady heels faded down the hall. Clark wrapped warm palms around his hips, cupping him gently as if he would break at the slightest touch. It had always amazed Bruce how capable, how controlled Clark could be in their more intimate moments. He was grateful of course; it would be hard to explain why the Batman was out of commission with two broken hips just after Superman gets back in town.

            His thoughts are interrupted as he’s lifted off the floor, legs nowhere else to go but around lean hips. He yanks and pulls at Clark’s hair until the man turns them to the bed. Reaching the king-sized mattress was blissful torture as each step brought their bodies closer together; their clothes created a barrier between their naked skin while providing such pleasurable friction.

            Bruce was deposited gently onto the bed, but Clark’s warmth didn’t follow.

            “I…don’t…” The jealous Superman from moments ago was gone, replaced by an uncertain Clark Kent standing at the bedside. “What if it’s different?”

            Bruce blinked. He hadn’t given it that much thought. Their separation had been difficult, but surely their reunion could only be sweet. “Do you want it to be?”

            Clark didn’t answer; he smiled though. A soft, innocent farm boy smile that usually made Bruce grind his teeth to keep from smiling himself. Nevertheless, the man standing before him was far from innocent as he began removing the Superman suit with agonizing slowness. Bruce watched avidly, kicking off his own shoes in hopes that the resulting thump covered his gasp as Clark’s near perfect body is revealed to his hungry gaze.

            In one blink, Clark is hovering over him, casting dubious looks at Bruce’s still buttoned dress shirt. “How fond are you of this shirt?”

            He smirked. The sound of ripping fabric and popping buttons was music to his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You like? I'm sorry, but the sexy-fun-time seemed to fit better in the next (and last) chapter. Let me know what you guys think :)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, chapter titles are also song lyrics from Acquainted by The Weeknd. I'm creative in other ways, okay? *frowns*. In case anyone's interested, the next chapter has the sexXx in it...


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